"Geeze!" Big hands curved around her hips and Matt hoisted her up. "From here on out, you're on your own to mount your horse."
As she settled against the saddle, Ruth stiffened her spine, and said, "Isn't there someone else who could teach me to ride? We don't work very well together."
Matt gave a kind of grudging laugh, and replied, "You're right, I have a problem with helpless females. I'll send Randy to take over." He strode towards the stables in long, ground-eating strides. He couldn't remember when he'd met a more infuriating woman. And he knew damn well Ruth was anything but helpless. The odd thing was, he liked this spunky side of her. He liked the way her eyes flared when she was pissed, and the stubborn way she lifted her chin when confronting him. And when she pressed her lips in disapproval, all he wanted was to kiss them into soft submission. Nor had her shape escaped him—her nicely-rounded butt, her small waist, her full breasts. And he'd bet his last buck the skin beneath her western-cut shirt and tight-fitting jeans was as soft as the muzzle of a newborn foal.
She was also right about him teaching her to ride. They didn't work well together. Exactly what she did that made him short fused, he couldn't figure. He'd always prided himself on his tolerance and self-control when teaching a greenhorn to ride.
He looked ahead and saw his newest hand. The kid had a nice way about him and was young enough to view Ruth as an older woman to be treated with respect. He was also about as skilled with horses as any wrangler he'd ever had. "Hey Randy," he called out...
***
Several hours later, Ruth swung down from her horse like a seasoned rider. She slapped at her jeans, sending puffs of dust into the air. Though her butt was sore, her face sunburned, and she ached in places she hadn't known existed, she felt a sense of exhilaration with her newfound skill. Randy, unlike his intolerable boss, had the patience of Job. After having her spend the first ten minutes learning to mount and dismount, she was able to bend her leg, give a little hop, and be up on the horse with relative ease. And she'd learned terms like cinch and pommel and skirts, as well as most of the parts of the horse, though she still got some terms confused. Randy promised to write it all down, and she was determined to memorize it all before her riding lesson the following day. What pleased her most was that after only a few rounds in the corral, she could stand in her stirrups while the horse ambled around the ring. And when the horse trotted, she remained square in the saddle.
They'd spent the next four hours riding fence, though Ruth knew Randy on his own would have covered far more territory than they had together. But he never let on. She'd also sat her mount while the horse waded knee-deep in water as they crossed a river. And although she'd clung to the saddle horn when the horse lunged up the opposite embankment, she'd nevertheless, hung on. Randy laughed like he was enjoying the outing, and praised her skill as a beginner. He also assured her that before the four days were done, she'd be scaling the embankment without the aid of the saddle horn. And she was set on proving him right and Matt Kincaid wrong.
A few minutes later, as she stood inside the barn, brushing Dynamite, a shadow fell across them. She looked up to find Matt's tall, broad-shouldered frame in the doorway. A big man with an imposing presence, he was there, she suspected, to pick up where they'd left off. She couldn't remember exactly where that was, but it made her annoyed.
Matt pushed his Stetson back with one finger. "I see you made it back in one piece."
Gripping the brush, Ruth began brushing in short, quick strokes. "Yes, thanks to Randy's patience and pleasant disposition."
Matt ambled over to where she stood, and with an amused smile on his lips, he said, "Honey, if you're trying to brush that horse bald you're going at it the right way."
"I am not your honey," Ruth said. She'd had her fill of this sweet talking cowboy. The brush strokes became harder, faster. "Is there something you want," she snapped, "or are you just here to irritate me?" As soon as she said the words she knew she'd overstepped her bounds again. Matt was, after all, her boss. He also had a knack for bringing out the worst in her.
A large palm came around to cover her hand, stopping the frantic motion. "Simmer down, sweetheart, or you'll brush the coat right off the dang horse."
Ruth tightened her mouth. Her objection to his hollow endearments didn't faze the man. She pulled her hand from under his and looked up to meet a pair of amused eyes and a cocky grin. "What's so funny?"
A rowdy expression came in his eyes. "I don't think you really want to know."
"I asked, didn't I?"
"Suit yourself," Matt said. "I was enjoying the way your butt sashayed back and forth when you were brushing the bejesus out of that horse."
Ruth stopped brushing momentarily, gave him a sharp look, and said, "I’d appreciate it if you’d save those kinds of remarks for Lorinda!"
Matt arched a brow. "Who told you about her?"
"I have my sources."
Matt chuckled. "Annie-Big-Mouth."
"You're not exactly subtle around her," Ruth said. "Annie's very aware of your fascination with Lorinda's... attributes."
Matt let out a short guffaw. "Every cowboy within spitting distance of Lorinda is fascinated with her attributes."
Ruth moved to the other side of the horse to put some distance between them. Focusing on the brush in her hand, she said, "Well, your salivating over the woman is not a very good example to set. Annie will think men are only interested in women as sex objects."
"Annie's not into that right now."
His self-assured comment riled Ruth. "You have no idea about the mind-set of a little girl. You and the rest of the bunch around here treat Annie like she was one of the boys. I doubt she’s ever had her hair fixed with ribbons or even owns a dress.
"Annie wouldn't wear a dress if she had one," Matt said. "And there'd be hell to pay if anyone tried to put ribbons in her hair."
"How do you know? Have you ever tried?"
Matt gave a cynical snort. "No, but you can have at it."
"Fine, I will." Ruth realized she was frantically brushing the horse again and slowed her movements. She also made a firm vow to get Annie into a dress and put ribbons in her hair if it was the last thing she did.
The barn darkened and Ruth turned to find Annie's small frame standing in the doorway. Annie pressed her hands beneath her eyes and pulled downward, distorting her features while sticking out her tongue. Ruth feigned a smile, but she couldn't shake the hurt she felt on seeing Annie's hostile, deliberately distorted face. If Annie was Beth, how could she feel such enmity towards a mother who'd loved her with all her heart?
Unless she also felt betrayed by that same woman who disappeared from her life without saying goodbye. A woman Beth's soul would remember, even if Beth didn't. Which might explain Annie's behavior. But there was another side to the issue, a side Ruth found far more troubling than Annie's hostility. She was finding it hard to like Annie.
How could a mother feel anything but tenderness and heartfelt love for her own child? How could there be anything but a deep, soulful affinity? Still, there were moments when she'd wanted to take Annie by the shoulders and shake her, that she also longed to take her in her arms and hold her. And those were the moments she'd keep close to her heart, because to concede would be to fall back into the hopelessness that had marked her life for the past four years...
Matt looked in the direction of Ruth's gaze and Annie's face returned to normal. He motioned for Annie to join them. "Did you finish in the henhouse?"
Annie shook her head.
"Then get on back and finish your chores so you can take Ruth around and introduce her to the ranch dogs."
"I don't want to show her the dogs."
"Sorry pal, you don't have a choice."
Annie rolled out her bottom lip in a pout and didn't budge.
Matt peered down at her. "Tuck that slab of ham back in your mouth, and do as you're told."
Annie pinned Ruth with resentful eyes. "She keeps staring at me."
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Matt's gaze darted between the two females, coming to rest on Annie. "She's probably trying to figure you out. You're like a puzzle with missing pieces. Ruth has some of the pieces—she knows you're smart and have pretty hazel eyes and a great pair of lungs. But she wants to know more. And frankly, kiddo, you haven't made it very easy on her. In fact, you've been a real pain in the butt."
Annie eyed Ruth with disdain. "I still don't like her."
"Yeah, well, that's your problem," Matt said.
"Will you take me shooting if I do everything?" Annie asked, looking up at her father.
"You got a deal." Matt gave her a high five.
Annie slapped Matt's big palm with her little one and skipped toward the chicken yard.
Matt stared after her in amusement. "Manipulative little filly." He gave Ruth a lopsided smile. "She's also got her old man pegged. All she has to do is roll those big pretty eyes at me and name her ticket."
"And that ticket is going shooting." Ruth said in a cynical tone. "I assume she meant shooting guns, not pool, not that shooting guns would be any better."
Matt shrugged. "Annie has a 22 rifle she got for her birthday. The boys chipped in and bought it for her and she's real proud of it. She's pretty good with it too," he added.
Ruth glared at Matt. The idea of a six-year-old sporting a rifle, a girl no less, brought her temper rising just below the surface, whether that child was Annie or Beth. "Do you really think shooting a gun is appropriate for a little girl?"
Matt's face sobered. "It is when she's out riding and a rattlesnake crosses her path."
Ruth looked at him in alarm. "You have rattlesnakes here?"
"Sure. It wouldn't hurt you to learn to shoot too." An amused glimmer came into his eyes. "In fact I'll teach you myself."
"You forget, we don't work well together."
"Yeah, well, we'll work on that because I’ll be the one to teach you."
The thought of standing with her back to Matt in the circle of his arms, and his hands on hers to steady her rifle, made Ruth's breath catch. Dismissing the unnerving thought, and said, "I don't suppose it would make any difference if I told you I didn't want to shoot a rifle."
"None at all."
Resigned, Ruth returned to the issue of Annie. The man was hopelessly off track when it came to raising a daughter. He was also as oblivious as his men, she suspected, when it came to gifts for little girls. While returning to brushing the horse, she said, "Has anyone around here ever thought of giving Annie jewelry or pretty dresses, or maybe a doll house for her Barbies?"
"Dresses and doll houses for Annie?" Matt smiled then, a warm smile of affection that had the odd effect of triggering a dull, hard thumping in Ruth's chest. "Knowing Annie, she'd rather have a toy barn and horses for her Kens. And let’s just slow that brush down…" He placed his hand over Ruth's, and this time she didn’t pull away. The warmth of his hand moving with hers invoked a bizarre sense of longing that was as strong as it was unexpected. She glanced up at him. "Still, I want to get her something pretty."
His hand still covering hers, Matt stopped the movement of the brush, peered down at her with eyes that shone as if each possessed its own little sun, and said in a quiet voice, "I'm glad you've come to us, Ruthie girl. This place needs a woman's touch."
For a moment, Ruth couldn't breathe, or speak. All she could do was look up at him, while a silent voice in her head said, don’t do this to me. Don't smile your crooked smile and look at me with eyes that make my heart flutter...
Wariness settled inside her. Something insidious was stealing into her existence, directing her mind to oppose her will. Whatever it was, she didn't like it.
Matt lifted his hand from hers and stroked her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "So serious. Give me a smile. Show me those dimples you keep hidden beneath a frown."
Ruth offered a smile, but it quivered and flattened. And the pleasure she’d felt was replaced by the terrible awareness that she was becoming attracted to the man who might have kidnapped her daughter. She'd heard it could happen, a victim drawn into a kind of perverse bond with her perpetrator. She'd guard against that. Matt was merely a means to an end. Nothing more.
***
That evening, while Matt and Annie were occupied with their bedtime story-telling shenanigans, as Matt laughingly referred to it, Ruth stood on the porch, contemplating her day. It had not gone as she'd planned. She'd intended to endear the child and dislike the man, but that's not the way it turned out. As untouchable as Annie had been, Matt had been the opposite. After their encounter in the barn, he'd shown her around the place, and during that time he frequently touched her—his palm at the small of her back or beneath her elbow as they walked, his finger pushing a wisp of hair from her forehead or brushing a smidgeon of dust from her cheek, his hand grasping her arm to pull her out of the way of a frolicking dog. He'd treated her as if she were special, someone who, in some way she could not hope to understand, made a difference in his life. She wanted to think the worst of him, but couldn't.
An unfamiliar sensation began to well in the area of her solar plexus, a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation and elation. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of horses and warm earth and night blossoms, and the feeling began to subside. Maybe it had only been a touch of fatigue. It had been a long day.
A small, insistent voice inside her said, No, Ruth, it's not fatigue, nor has it been a long day, and you know it. But she dismissed the voice and concentrated instead on the bright moon peeking from behind gauzy clouds while weaving a gossamer web of ethereal light and shadows on everything it touched. The night was filled with a chorus of sounds—the hooty, hoot of an owl, the winsome flute-song of a night bird, the ceaseless drone of frogs at the pond, the cacophony blending with the whirring of crickets and the far-off laughter of men in the bunkhouse. But gradually, all the sounds seemed to grow faint, until not a leaf moved, not an insect stirred. The air seemed to hang motionless. But while the sounds around her faded, the sensation of being watched grew, until it was so strong, tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle. Nervously she turned. And stilled.
Matt, standing in a pool of ochre light beneath the porch fixture, watched her solemnly. The directness of his gaze was like an intimate touch, the awareness of his physical presence making her feel disarmed and vulnerable and desirable. For a moment, she basked in the notion that life could again be fulfilling. She imagined how it might have been in another time and another place when she'd still clung to a young girl's dreams—the stranger across a room, a discreet glance, an engaging smile, an unspoken promise of love, and she'd walk into his open arms...
Warm tears filled her eyes, tears of longing for something she dared not wish, for fanciful notions and impossible dreams and wanting a man she could not love. But when Beth was taken from her, it was as if all capacity to love had died. There were no words to describe the shock, the anger, the terrible emptiness that would not go away...
A tear slipped down her cheek, and another, and before she could react, Matt closed the gap between them. Peering down at her, he cradled her face in his palms and brushed the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "What is it, Ruth? What are you holding inside?"
Her throat felt scratchy and raw, and she had to swallow before words could come. "It's nothing," she said. "I was just feeling a little melancholy... homesick, I suppose."
"What I saw goes deeper. Was it a man?"
Ruth nodded. A small lie. But there was no way she could tell Matt the truth. Everything about her life at the moment was a lie, her name, her contrived background, her reason for being there. The only truth was that someone had stolen Beth and that someone could be Matt.
Another tear rolled down her cheek... and another...
"Come here." Matt took her in his arms and held her against the firm wall of his chest, and she didn't try to break free. She couldn't. If she did, she knew her knees would buckle. It felt good to be held, to hear the beat of anoth
er human heart close to her own, to forget there existed a world beyond where she was. "Is that why you wore shapeless clothes, so you wouldn't attract a man?" he said against the top of her head, his deep voice seeming to resonate through her.
Ruth sniffled, inhaling the musky scent of him, of horse and smoke and leather. "You think my clothes were shapeless?" she said, because she couldn't think of anything else, finding his nearness disconcerting.
His arms tightened protectively around her. "Only the clothes," Matt replied, "because what I'm holding is definitely not shapeless. When I first saw you I had no way of knowing you had a small waist and nice hips and other curves that would turn a man's head."
"I'm not interested in catching a man," she said, bracing her hands against his chest. "Right now, my only goal is to be the best nanny I can be and win over Annie. And I'm sorry about what happened. Sometimes I get a little emotional, but it doesn't last long."
Matt curved a finger beneath her chin and lifted, forcing her to look at him. Regarding her with a directness that was unsettling, he said, "You don't need to be sorry, Ruth, or feel ashamed with me. Not now. Not ever. Trust me. I'm your friend."
For several seconds she was aware of nothing around her but the erratic beating of her heart, and the tightness in her chest, and the earnest eyes that seemed to be peering into her soul, sincere eyes that asked nothing of her but her trust...
Her trust in the man who might have taken Beth.
"I can't... I mean...."
"You can't what? Trust me?"
"No.... Yes.... That is...." Noises swarmed around her then—wind rustling through leaves, thorns scraping against windows, muffled voices in the bunkhouse...
Abruptly, she backed out of his arms. "I really have to... get to bed. You see... I'm very tired." She slipped past him and dashed into the house, vowing not to let him touch her again.
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